


Dire Straights

by siegeofangels



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Humor, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Matchmaking, informed non-monogamy, sex mentor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 07:26:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18686854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siegeofangels/pseuds/siegeofangels
Summary: “So they’re literally too straight to fuck each other, even when they want to,” Ronan says.Lovett flops onto his bed. “Apparently. Do you think I can make them a remedial porn playlist? They’re so fucking hopeless. They basically need a stage manager.”





	Dire Straights

**Author's Note:**

> a) please keep this to fandom eyes and out of the reach of anyone involved
> 
> b) in the case that anyone involved DOES see this: look, we are all reacting to the Trump administration in our own way, okay
> 
> c) I looked up exactly one detail for this; a certain amount of handwaving is needed re: the timeline and who is where, geographically

Lovett blames Germany. 

He’s tired, overworked, has some form of the scourge that’s going around the office, and is elbows-deep in this energy speech for the President’s Germany trip, which is why he replies without thinking when Jon, for the thousandth time, laments his single status. 

“I just wanna _meet somebody_ ,” says Jon.

“You and Tommy would make a good couple,” Lovett says, distracted, and keeps typing. He finishes his paragraph before he realizes that a strangely heavy silence has fallen over the room. 

Jon is blinking at him like he’s trying to convey something in Morse code. 

Lovett has to replay the last minute or so in his mind, and when he realizes what he said, he sighs. “I just--forget I said anything, it’s the DayQuil talking. Obviously you’re not going to date Tommy.” It comes out a little more bitter than he means it to, god, why is there not one other queer person in this office? 

“Uh,” Jon says. “Yeah. Okay.” 

Lovett is naive enough to think that’s the end of it. 

***

It’s a couple weeks later, after Germany, after Lovett has signaled his return from the scourge by switching from screwdrivers (for the vitamin C) to shitty beer, that Jon brings it up.

They’re at some bar, some straight bar, and drinking like the White House staffers they are, which is pretty much one step down from lawyers, and two steps down from death. 

Jon is sloshed enough to throw an arm around Lovett’s shoulders and say in a voice that he probably thinks is quiet, “What did you _mean_.” 

“What do you mean what did I mean,” Lovett says. Jon should have some sort of flaw this close up but no, even his pores are good-looking.

“When--Tommy,” Jon says. “When you said me and Tommy. Should date.” 

Lovett looks up at the sky in the hopes that Freddie Mercury descends from the heavens to rescue him, but no help is forthcoming. “Don’t worry, you don’t give off a vibe or whatever,” he says. “I’m used to all my gay friends dating each other and it seemed like a good match. You have a lot in common, that’s all.” 

“Huh,” says Jon. He squeezes Lovett. “Okay.” 

Weirdo. 

***

Tommy ambushes him a couple of days later, when they’re the only ones home and Lovett is just getting up from his couchnest to resupply. 

“Did you tell Favs to ask me on a date?” he says. He’s got crazy eyes, but that’s par for the course. 

Lovett hesitates and checks for escape routes, because he doesn’t feel like going through all of this again. “Not in so many words,” he says. 

“Because Favs asked me on a date,” Tommy hisses. 

Which is _not_ one of the possible outcomes that Lovett had considered. He sits down again and thinks about it. 

God, they’d be _beautiful_ together, walking hand-in-hand beside the Tidal Basin, heads bent toward each other at Politics and Prose. Jon distracting Tommy from his own thoughts with a kiss. Tommy dropping by the office to bitch about the press and making Jon laugh. 

“ . . . _damn_ ,” Lovett says, with feeling. “Please tell me you said yes, Vietor, you need to lock that down before everyone else realizes he’s an option and there’s some sort of stampede down Connecticut on their way to him.” 

Tommy sits down too. “Do you really think we’d be good together?” he says. 

“Yes,” Lovett says immediately. “I come from a long line of yentas, trust me on this.” He knocks Tommy’s knee with his own. “You’re not freaking out about the gay thing?” 

Tommy rubs the back of his neck and shrugs. “I mean, it’s Favs, right?” 

Disgusting. “Get out of here with your face,” Lovett says, rolling his eyes. 

***

“. . . and now they’re actually going on a date!” Jon says into the phone. 

Ronan laughs, warm across the miles. “You have somehow managed to manifest a beautiful couple out of two straight men. You’re like Rumplestiltskin, spinning gays out of straw.” 

“The magic touch,” Lovett says. “I deserve a reward.” 

“Mmm,” Ronan says, his voice sliding down into a purr, “You certainly do, what are you thinking?” 

***

Lovett doesn’t get a chance to debrief either of his proteges until a few days after The Date, which is fine, because why wouldn’t it have gone well? Finally he’s alone in the office with Jon and asks, and what does he get in return? Hemming! And hawing! 

“We’re just not . . . “ Jon says, and hesitates. “Compatible,” he finishes. 

“That is a lie,” says Lovett. “I know you get along. What happened?” 

The bridge of Jon’s nose is turning pink. “We’re not compatible,” he repeats. “Sexually.” 

Lovett launches himself over to Jon’s desk via wheelie chair so fast that he almost bites it when one wheel catches on a case of soda. “Okay, now you really have to tell me,” he says. 

Jon’s shoulders are up around his ears. “I think we couldn’t, like--look. He’s not a girl. And neither am I.” 

“THAT’S THE POINT!” Lovett shrieks, and stomps out. 

***

“Look, I’m a good lay, okay?” Tommy whispers furiously to Lovett in the kitchen that night, the first of what Lovett hopes will be many congrats-on-your-impending-escape-from-washington parties. “I have moves. _Great_ moves. Jon wasn’t into it.” 

Lovett tries his best to whisper back. It’s hard for him at this level of inebriation. “For women, Tommy? Moves _for women_?” 

“It didn’t work out, it’s fine. Jon and I laughed about it, we’re still friends. It’s okay.” 

“It is _not_ okay,” Lovett hisses. “You are going to get together, and you are going to figure this out, and you are going to become a disgustingly attractive power couple and dance together at the Fifty-Seventh Inaugural, _so help me_.” 

***

“So they’re literally too straight to fuck each other, even when they want to,” Ronan says. 

Lovett flops onto his bed. “Apparently. Do you think I can make them a remedial porn playlist? They’re so fucking hopeless. They basically need a stage manager.” 

“Well,” Ronan says. “If you need to make that sacrifice, then I don’t see what else can be done.” 

Lovett’s eyes get very wide. “Seriously?” 

Ronan laughs his dork laugh. “You need to tell me all about it.” 

“Oh, believe me,” Lovett says, “I will.” 

***

It’s not--Lovett’s not _conniving_ , he just happens to be home with Jon and Tommy and no one else and the alcoholic leftovers of the party. Any reports that he orchestrated this situation are absolutely untrue. 

He’s sitting between the others on the couch, because of course they each claimed an end in a disgusting display of modern heterosexuality. When the Law and Order marathon clicks over to a new episode, he gets another shot for each of them and curls back up between Jon and Tommy. 

“So how far did you get in your terrible sex?” he says conversationally, and Tommy chokes on his whiskey. 

“It wasn’t _terrible_ ,” Jon says. “We’re not _bad_ at it.” 

“Please,” says Lovett. “Women have been brainwashed into accepting subpar dicking from the straight men of the world for whom there is no incentive to improve. Show me your so-called moves.” 

Tommy sighs. “You’re not going to drop this, are you?” 

“Nope!” Lovett says brightly, and takes his shot. 

“Fine,” Jon says. “You know what, _fine_ ,” and lurches over Lovett until he’s squashed between him and Tommy, and he grabs Tommy’s face in both hands and kisses him. 

Lovett’s view is mostly elbows but what he can see is, objectively, hot. Except that then Tommy brings his hands up to Jon’s face and then there’s some sort of . . . slap fight? And then Jon loses his balance and falls over into Lovett’s lap. 

Lovett looks down. “You,” he says, “need help.” 

Jon hauls himself back up with a hand from Tommy. They keep holding hands once Jon's upright. 

“Good, that's good,” Lovett says. “Keep your hands out of the way and try it again.” 

The kiss this time is deeper, more paced. Nobody tries to palm anyone else's face. Lovett only has to say once, “If either of you tries to grab a nipple I swear I'm burning this entire block down.” 

They're breathtaking together, they really are, and Lovett just watches them for a bit. When Jon is exploring Tommy's jawline and Tommy is breathing hard, Lovett says, “Tommy. Tommy. What about Jon turns you on?” 

Tommy tries to hide his face in Jon's neck. 

Jon whispers, “Tommy. It's okay.” 

Tommy says, not without a little bit of throat-clearing, “Uh, his, his hands.” 

“Oh, good choice,” Lovett says. “You want to watch him jerk you off?” 

“Fuck, yes,” Tommy says with feeling. 

“Now you can use your hands,” Lovett tells Jon. 

The two of them manage to get Tommy's cock out. It looks good, like, top five in Lovett's ranking. It's so unfair.

“Jon, let Tommy suck on your fingers for a minute, get your hand wet,” Lovett says, and Jon brings a shaking hand up to Tommy's mouth and holy fuck, Lovett is never going to forget the way this looks, the way Tommy is completely gone, just on mouthing at Jon’s hand, eyes closed. 

Tommy's reluctant to let Jon's fingers go, which Lovett files away for future reference, but eventually Jon does get his hand around Tommy's cock and starts jerking him, and Tommy makes the most delicious sound. 

Jon takes the initiative and kisses Tommy. 

“Good, yes,” Lovett says. He manfully resists pressing a hand against his hard-on. This isn’t--about that, not now, not yet. If he gets them both to the finish line without anybody falling over again then he’ll count it a win. 

Tommy’s O-face is as stupid as Lovett had thought it might be, but what’s better is the way he rallies and goes right for Jon’s fly. 

It turns out they are, in fact, not complete idiots, because Tommy manages to jerk Jon off without . . . trying to take off his bra, or whatever he would have done with a woman, and Jon tilts his head back on the back of the couch and falls apart under Tommy’s hand, looking like porn for people who are into bad haircuts. 

When it’s over Tommy laughs softly and wipes his hand on Jon’s shirt, and leans in to kiss him. 

They’re still lost in each other when Lovett croaks, “Good job, nobody got injured, well done, _IneedtogocallRonannow_ ,” and escapes to his bedroom. 

***

“They’re my greatest achievement,” Lovett says, satisfied. 

Ronan hmms, afterglow-slow. “Better than the Correspondents’ Dinner speech?” he says. He knows how Lovett gets when a joke lands.

Lovett considers. “Tie,” he says. 

***

He doesn’t know why he thought that would be the end of it, that Jon and Tommy would just ride off into the sunset and Lovett would send in his voucher for a free toaster, but a few days later Tommy corners him at lunchtime. 

“Hey,” Tommy says. He looks good, as well-rested as Jon’s ever seen him. Jon Favreau will do that to a guy, Lovett supposes. “I have a favor to ask.” 

“Hm?” Lovett says, mouth full of sad chicken Caesar wrap. 

“Can you,” Tommy says, and turns red. “Teach me how to, you know.” Tommy pokes his tongue into his cheek. 

Lovett nearly chokes on the Caesar. 

“Oh my god,” Tommy says, after the coughing and the unattractive sounds and the appropriation of Tommy’s water because carbonation is not what Lovett needs in this situation. “Are you okay?” 

“Am I okay?” Lovett says. “You can’t just come up to a man at lunchtime and _say that_.” 

Tommy flushes even more. “Sorry. I just--Jon and I are . . . it’s good, it’s really good, I just, I want to but I’m worried about, like, fucking it up, or hurting him or, god, hurting myself, and--” 

“Hey, hey,” Lovett says to break off the spiral, because he knows Tommy is capable of doing this pretty much indefinitely and the penny of his thoughts will never drop into the charity bucket. “You just need a spotter. Of course. What are friends for?” 

***

Ronan can’t stop laughing. 

“They are trying to _kill me_ ,” Lovett tells him, staring up at the shadows on his bedroom ceiling. “This is how I go, blue balls and a heart attack next to the finest specimens the New England private school system ever produced. You can have my PlayStation when I die.” 

“You don’t have to,” Ronan says through his giggles.

“Oh no,” Lovett says, “I’m pretty sure I do. His face, Ronan, he was like the Little Match Girl staring through the window at all the blowjobs he can’t give. Tommy Vietor’s tragic face has slain lesser men.” 

“For the record,” Ronan says. “If you happen to become overcome by the tragic face, or by Favs’ beautiful dick--”

“--shit, I haven’t even seen his dick, what if that’s what kills me--” 

“--if they want you to be a little more hands-on, that’s fine on my end.” 

Lovett sits straight up in bed. Pulls his knees up to his chest. “Wait. Really?” 

“Well,” Ronan says, “yeah. I trust them, and I trust you, and just--if you come back to me and tell me about it? I think it’d be all right.” 

Lovett sags back. “How are you so wonderful? Seriously.” 

“I have this really great boyfriend,” Ronan says. “Our relationship is deeply weird but it works for us. I also have a bunch of rewrites to do before 9, and you need to get to sleep.” 

Time zones are a bitch. 

“Love you,” Lovett says. “Good morning.” 

“Love you,” says Ronan. “Good night.” 

***

They convene in Tommy's room on a Saturday when nothing terrible has happened. Lovett quietly slides into the room after some spy-movie sneaking around their other housemates; Jon and Tommy are already on the bed, kissing, kneeling with their shirts off, looking like badly-lit softcore. Fuck.

Jon's got one hand in the back pocket of Tommy's jeans, but otherwise they're keeping things above the waist like the Boy Scouts they probably both are. And Lovett is going to walk them one more block down the road of debauchery. 

He leans against the door for a minute and reconsiders his entire life. Making an appointment to teach blowjobs to a heretofore straight friend isn't the stupidest thing Lovett's ever done, but it's right up there. Lovett's going to do it anyway. 

They finally realize he's in the room and break apart. Last time--last time he saw them Lovett couldn't see the way Tommy flushes all the way down his chest, or the way Jon's eyes get sleepy and low when he's turned on. 

“Uh,” Lovett says, suddenly feeling like maybe he shouldn't have worn sweatpants. “Did you still want--” 

“Yeah,” Tommy says. “Yeah, if that's cool, c’mere.” 

Lovett climbs hesitantly onto the bed with them and tries not to die. 

Jon is wriggling his pants off unselfconsciously, and Lovett has to just close his eyes for a second and breathe, because all the acres of Jon are stretching out on the bed, a heartbreakingly beautiful piece of the natural world, like a sunset-lit field in Iowa.

“Yeah,” Tommy says. “Yeah.” 

Lovett opens his eyes. “Right,” he says. “Just--start slow, Tommy.” 

It’s not that Tommy’s _bad_ at this; he looks a bit unpracticed, but judging from Jon’s reactions, that’s not a problem. Jon’s into it. 

Jon’s maybe a little _too_ into it, that’s their problem, and he suddenly bucks his hips up, and Tommy makes a sound like a car breaking down and backs off. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Jon says. “Please.” 

“It’s okay,” Tommy says. 

“It is _not_ okay,” Lovett says. “That is rude, Jonathan, we do not do that unless we ask nicely.” 

Jon has thrown an arm over his face. “Tommy, can you please--” he says. 

“Here,” Lovett tells Tommy, “Put your arm, like--” and manages to get Tommy into a slightly more defensive position. 

Take two. 

When Tommy goes down again he barely makes it a minute, because Tommy can keep a million national security details in his mind but is apparently unable to multitask with a cock in his mouth. Jon’s hips twitch again and Tommy has to pull off, coughing. 

“I’m sorry,” Jon says. “I don’t usually. Sorry.” 

Tommy wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He has his determined face on. “Lovett,” Tommy says, “can you help?” 

“Uh,” Lovett says. “Like--” 

“Just, I don’t know, lean on him or something,” Tommy says, and so Lovett does, so help him, he leans over and braces his weight on Jon’s hips. 

Jon’s skin is warm and smooth under his hands, and from here he can see _very clearly_ the way that Jon’s smooth dick disappears into Tommy’s eager mouth, the way Tommy uses his tongue and lips, the rhythm that Tommy gets into once he gains confidence. 

Beautiful, pained sounds are coming from Jon now. “Tommy, Tommy,” Jon says. “I’m gonna--” 

“You need to decide,” Lovett says. “It’ll be easier if you pull off.” 

Which of course makes Tommy take in a breath and go down as far as he can, and Lovett can see his cheeks hollow as he sucks, hard. 

Jon comes with a strangled shout, and Tommy tries to swallow and kind of fails, and there’s come everywhere and Tommy doesn’t seem to want to take his mouth off of Jon. Lovett can’t blame him; this is one of the hottest things that he’s ever been near. 

Jon is panting now, coming down, and Lovett realizes that he can probably let go now. 

He backs off. “Good job,” he tells Tommy. 

Tommy somehow blushes more. “Thanks,” he says, and crawls up to press his face to Jon’s. He’s still wearing his jeans, shifting his hips in little motions against Jon. 

“Right,” Lovett says. “I’ll just--go.” He can probably make it to his own room before he has to get a hand on himself. 

“Uh,” Jon says, and puts a hand on Lovett’s leg. 

Lovett looks at the hand, then looks at Jon, then looks back at the hand. 

“If you wanted,” Jon says. “We didn’t want to just . . . kick you out.” 

Holy shit. “Oh, now you’re worried about manners,” Lovett says faintly. Ronan was right, of course Ronan was right. This is insane. But Lovett’s not going to say _no_. “What’s on the table, here?” 

“I can, um, jerk you off?” Jon says. “Or you could--on me.” 

Lovett palms himself through his sweatpants at that thought, at the mental image of kneeling over Jon, of Jon's long fingers on his skin. But it's not his show, he thinks. “Tommy,” he says gently. ”You pick.” 

Tommy lifts his head up, looks at Lovett with dark eyes. “I--can I do you?” he says. “I want to try again.” He’s pink and flushed and his lips are still slick. 

“Sure, twist my arm,” Lovett says, and reaches a shaking hand out to actually touch Tommy, to thumb over his bottom lip. “Do you want to try being on your knees?” 

Tommy closes his eyes and nods. 

Lovett situates himself on the edge of the bed and gets Tommy between his knees. “You’re making nineteen-year-old me extremely happy; he had a _very_ specific fantasy about the frat boys in his sociology class.” 

Tommy breathes hard against Lovett’s thigh, so Lovett strokes Tommy’s temple, jacking himself with his other hand. 

“And present me is pretty into it too, of course,” he says. “Just go slow.” 

It is slow; it is excruciatingly slow and careful and Lovett understands why Jon couldn’t help reacting the way he did. Lovett slides his hand through Tommy’s hair, just--feeling the movement, feeling the temporalis muscle flex under his fingers when Tommy moves his jaw. 

“Fucking gorgeous,” Jon says, curling up close so he can watch. Lovett puts a hand on his head too, because he’s here, and Jon’s face is stupidly pretty, and he wants to touch it in the same way he wants to touch flowers, cup them in his hand. 

The blowjob is unpracticed and not the most mind-blowing thing that’s ever happened to Lovett, but Tommy certainly gets points for enthusiasm. He starts making these little noises that Lovett can almost feel. 

“Oh my fucking god,” Lovett says as things suddenly get urgent. “Tommy, Tommy, pull off, seriously--” and Tommy pulls back just in time for Lovett to get a hand around himself and keep from shooting Tommy right in the eye with his come. 

Tommy nuzzles him through it, burying his face at the base of Lovett’s dick, mouthing along the crease of his hip. 

“God, your mouth,” Lovett says with feeling, and turns to Jon. “His _mouth_.” 

“I know,” Jon says, leaning in to tug at Tommy’s arm, pulling him back up onto the bed. 

Lovett goes for Tommy’s fly and pushes him down. “Favreau, get down here,” he says, and makes Jon lick all along the shaft of Tommy’s cock as Lovett sucks on the head. 

Tommy comes gratifyingly quickly. Lovett swallows some and then holds Tommy’s come on his tongue, unable to resist showing off. He turns and pounces on Jon, kissing him before Jon can react, because Lovett’s an asshole and it’s only fair to snowball the guy who didn’t fully go down. 

Jon makes a surprised noise and kind of flails. “Damn,” he says when Lovett lets him up. “My dick can’t decide if that was gross or hot.” He collapses onto Tommy.

“Well, from here it was both of those things and also funny,” Lovett says, and flops back on the mattress to feel good about himself for a few minutes. 

They all lay there until Lovett starts to drift off. He startles awake to Tommy’s voice. 

“Not to harsh the afterglow,” Tommy says, “but I really need a shower before I fall asleep or I’m gonna end up glued to my pillow.” 

“Yeah, good call,” Jon says. “Lovett? You staying?” 

Don’t make it awkward, don’t make it awkward, Lovett thinks to himself, and looks over. Jon’s face is open, and it’s clear that the question is just a question, not some sort of referendum on redefining their entire relationship. Which is good. Lovett is fucking _beat_. 

“I honestly don’t sleep that well unless I’m by myself,” Lovett says. “Gonna go collapse in my own bed.” He gets up and looks around for his pants. 

Tommy is up too, now, hunting down a towel, and he passes by Lovett and slaps his ass.

Lovett jumps. “What the hell?” he says, pulling his sweatpants on.

“Good game,” Tommy says, smirking. 

“You too, you ridiculous lacrosse tournament of a human being,” Lovett says, and heads to bed.

***

“Hey, can you do me a favor before you leave town?” Jon asks. 

Lovett has been hunched over his laptop writing all day, emails and scripts and all the other stuff that falls under the “California Dreaming” block in his calendar. He does not want to write any more. “Michelle is _good_ , Jon, she will write great dad jokes for the President, have some faith,” he says, and stretches his arms up as he glares at Jon in his doorway. 

“Uh,” Jon says. “That’s not the kind of, of favor that I wanted. That we wanted.” He rubs at the back of his neck. 

Oho. “A sexy favor?” Lovett can feel himself start to smile. Last time was fucking amazing, and the aftermath of last time, when he narrated the entire thing for Ronan, was even more amazing. And now Ronan keeps dropping phrases like, “I wonder how far Tommy’s oral fixation extends,” into their conversations. 

Jon bites his lip like he’s much more innocent than Lovett knows him to be. “There’s, you know, some stuff that we want to do--but it’s daunting, and, like, you’ve seen Tommy’s dick.” 

Lovett has. It’s . . . proportional. 

“You want to bottom,” Lovett translates, just to watch Jon squirm. 

“Yeah,” Jon says, trying to shrink his six-foot frame to hide behind a stack of books Lovett needs to take back to the library. 

And Lovett likes watching him squirm, but he doesn’t actually want to make Jon feel _bad_ , so he tells him, “Of course, you ridiculous man, I will happily conduct you down another stop on the gay train. When does Tommy get back?” 

Tommy’s on a foreign trip. Thailand, maybe, or Chile. All Lovett knows is that Tommy’s away and Lovett had to eat all of Tommy’s yogurt before it went bad. 

“Wednesday?” Jon says, relaxing a little. “But you know how he is the first day back, so does Thursday night work for you?” 

Lovett absolutely does not have anything better to do on Thursday night. “I’ll pencil you in,” he says. 

“Awesome,” says Jon, and slaps the lintel of Lovett’s door on his way out. 

Lovett leans back in his chair and dials Ronan. He’s probably out, or sleeping, or writing, who knows, but Lovett is very good at leaving nonspecific yet tantalizing voicemails. “Hey,” he begins, softly. 

***

Lovett brings a bottle of lube and a bottle of tequila up to Tommy’s room. When he gets there Jon and Tommy are making out _again_ , mostly-naked, stretched out on the bed, six miles of leg on display. 

“Don’t mind me,” Lovett says, and moves a pillow so he can sit against the wall. 

Jon moves a hand from where he’s groping Tommy and waves. “Hey,” he says. His eyelids are drooping and his voice is just a little raspy. Lovett loves it. 

Tommy flops over onto his back next to Lovett. His breath is hard and, as Lovett can now see, so is his dick. 

“You want to get more comfortable, there?” Lovett asks, and snaps the waistband of Tommy’s briefs. 

“ . . . yeah,” says Tommy, and shimmies the briefs down until he can kick them off. 

Jon gets rid of his own, then leans over and puts a hand on Tommy’s torso, just holding. It’s . . . a lot of eyes on Lovett. 

“Right. So,” Lovett says. “A caveat for tonight.” He reaches out and wraps his hand around Tommy’s dick, points it at Jon for emphasis. “You’re going to have to work up to this. Relaxation is the name of the game, hence the tequila.” 

Tommy giggles. 

Jon says, “The thing is--” and laughs a little. “We, uh, we did.” 

“Huh?” says Lovett, taking his hand back. 

“We’re good,” Tommy says, “in that aspect.” 

“Really good,” says Jon. 

Lovett can feel the moment stretch out and start to tip. It’s like high school, one of those times when the smile’s still on your face and everybody might _not_ be about to laugh at you. He turns away so he doesn’t have to watch them do it. 

“Oh,” he says. 

“Wait, wait,” Jon says, and reaches out to put his hand on Lovett’s thigh. His voice is warm, no trace of mocking. “We just--” 

Tommy breaks in. “You’re leaving soon. We just thought we’d . . . say thanks. For everything.” 

Lovett blinks. A few times.

“What,” he says, “there’s no template for a invitation to a threesome in your New England etiquette books? I would have said yes.” 

“You would have freaked out about it,” says Jon, now stroking his hand up and down Lovett’s upper leg. His pinky keeps brushing Lovett’s balls. 

Tommy shifts and reaches out, toying with the hem of Lovett’s t-shirt. “Last time was really--it was crazy hot, but I didn’t know how much you really got out of it--” 

Lovett snorts, because he got a _lot_ out of it--

Tommy continues, “--and we were wondering if there was anything in particular you wanted. From us.” 

“With us,” Jon says, dropping a kiss onto Tommy’s neck. 

Lovett had thought about it before, of course; either of them individually, together, with him, with Ronan in the mix, but to be suddenly faced with a world of options is overwhelming. A million images come to his mind at the same time and form a logjam in his brain. Lovett casts his eyes around as though the bare decor of Tommy’s bedroom will help, and he lands on the two bottles on the bedside table. 

“First,” Lovett says carefully, “I’m going to do a shot off of Jon’s ridiculous abs. And then I’ll think about what else I want.”

***

Slurping tequila out of Jon’s navel is in fact as fun as Lovett had thought it’d be, so he pushes Tommy down and pours some on him too. Jon laughs the whole time, which results in a lot of liquor spillage. Tommy’s bed is going to be _wrecked_.

“Ehn,” Tommy says. “My sheets have seen worse.” 

Lovett finishes licking and straightens up. He holds the bottle out to Jon. 

“You didn’t even bring a lime?” Jon says, but lifts the bottle to his mouth anyway. 

“Where would I get a lime?” Lovett says. “This house has never seen a piece of fresh produce. Take your shorts off.” 

Tommy takes the bottle and drinks before he sets it aside, then tugs at Lovett’s shirt. “Were you planning on getting naked, or just watching?” 

Lovett considers the view in front of him as Jon settles back onto the bed. “Well, I was promised Jon would bottom tonight, so--that, if I can do that.” 

Jon smiles and Tommy presses his face to Lovett’s cheek. “He fucking loves it,” Tommy says, quiet. 

“But I also--” Lovett says, and hesitates, because how greedy does he get to be? 

They’re both looking at him, though, open and trusting. 

“I want Tommy’s dick,” Lovett blurts. “I’m not moving time zones and never getting that thing inside me, that’s just tragic.” 

Tommy and Jon look at each other. “Like, at the same time, or--” Jon says. 

And the image snaps into Lovett’s mind, everything clicking, he can see it like a proof. Being between them, feeling them around him and inside him and letting his brain white out with sensation. That is exactly what he wants. “ _Yes_ ,” he says. 

***

"Are you kidding me?" Ronan says breathlessly. 

"Well, kind of," Lovett says. "Logistically, there's just no way. You know I've always been more of an ideas man." 

There's a thump from the other end of the line that might be Ronan falling backwards onto his bed, and then a giggle. "So--in series rather than in parallel?" he says. 

"Yes," Lovett tells him, his voice going soft with the memory. "Jon first. Tommy was right, he really does like getting fucked. And he looks amazing on his hands and knees." 

"Mmm," says Ronan. "Did you come like that, or hold out for Tommy?" 

"Came inside him," Lovett says. "And then I got to drift while Tommy got me ready. It took a while, you know, Tommy's big." 

"Did you get hard again?" 

Lovett breathes out a laugh. "Well, somewhere along the line Tommy learned about the prostate, so yeah, by the time I was ready for him, I was *ready*." 

"Such a quick learner, Tommy." 

"Oh, yes. Anyway. I laid back on Jon and Tommy fucked me like that, slow and, and languid, one of those neverending rolling fucks." 

"God--" Ronan says, and breaks off into heavy breathing. 

Lovett smiles to himself; he loves that sound, loves getting Ronan off from another continent. It's enough to push himself over the edge, and for a few minutes the only sound on the line is breathing and contented sighs. 

Ronan finally says, "Do you--" he clears his throat. "Have you discussed them visiting? Once you move." 

They had, actually. "A repeat performance, yeah, maybe, if they stop staring into each other's eyes long enough. What do you think?" 

"I think . . . I think that that'd be okay. But--is it terribly selfish to say only those two? I'm just--part of it is knowing them." 

Lovett loves this man so much, he really does. "No, no, that's not selfish at all. You're perfect," he says.

"I know," says Ronan. "And we can revisit, we can always revisit." 

"Si se puede," Lovett says quietly. "Fuck, it's late, I should let you sleep." 

"Sleep is overrated," Ronan says. "Good night, I love you." 

"I love you," Lovett tells him. "Good morning."


End file.
